Football
by Atopos
Summary: Alfred's seen hockey and now he has Arthur inviting him to a 'real football game'. All Alfred does is complain, though. Dedicated to bella92. Has some USAxUK.


Atopos - This is written for bella92, who requested this be a second chapter to the story Hockey (which, this one makes small references to, but no one really has to read it to get the general idea), but I decided to make them separate just because. I'm not too proud of this, but I don't know too much about soccer/football in the first place. Also not proud of the ending, but I had to end it somewhere. Lots of excuses. I'm upset, so I'm just happy to accomplish something small. I hope everyone likes it/undestand it.

I own nothing at all. There is a little USAxUK, but we all like that, right? Please enjoy!

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**Football**

It was far too cold for sports, but Alfred supposed that any day in England when it wasn't raining could be considered a good day. His heavy bomber's jacket was zipped up to his neck and his gloved hands were tucked into his armpits. His butt was especially cold as he sat on the outdoor bleachers. People crowded him on all sides (except for in the seat he was saving). They were crammed in close enough to be considered sardines in a can rather than spectators for a sporting event. Alfred was the only person who felt remotely uncomfortable.

The field had a think layer of fog that covered the ground like a sheet. If one went to the top of the bleachers, one would be able to see right over top of the fog and sit elevated in clear air. Arthur, though, had been the one to choose the seats. He wanted to be near the ground, but high enough that the players wouldn't touch them as they ran by.

Alfred didn't know what had possessed him when he had agreed to doing this with Arthur…

_**Flashback**_

It had been after a quick conference. The nation had gotten together to discuss events that had happened over the month. At the end, Alfred had stayed behind for a few minutes in order to clean up his mess of fast food wrappers and lists of ideas (the latest Transformers movie had given him brilliant ideas).

Arthur approached him. "I heard you went to a hockey game with your brother the other day." Was that a touch of jealousy in his voice? If it was, Alfred hadn't heard it.

"Yup!" Alfred said cheerfully. "It was amazing! I don't spend enough time with him, I think, which is strange 'cause we live right next to each other."

"I was thinking," Arthur said, going red in the face, "I've never taken you to a football game."

Alfred gave him a clueless look.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Would you like to go see a football game with me?"

Alfred fought hard to keep his face straight with absolutely no success. A silly, manic grin broke out onto his face. He raised his arms in the air with a pleased hooting sound. "Awesome!" Alfred yelled at the top of his lungs. "Sometimes you do have your rare moments of kindness!" He dropped his arms and stared directly into Arthur's nervous green eyes. "This'll be great. You and me, just like old times. I can't wait! I absolutely love football!"

_**End Flashback**_

Alfred hadn't been expecting this. This definitely was not football. Who was Arthur trying to kid? Sure, Alfred had had many jokes pulled on him, but this was seriously low.

He removed his glasses to wipe the condensation off of them and, when he put them back on, there was a steaming cup being held out in front of his face. Alfred accepted it from Arthur's hands. Arthur then took the empty place on Alfred's left.

"Nice, isn't it?" Arthur motioned to the field where players (_soccer!_ Alfred thought, _not football! Footballers have more padding and wouldn't be freezing in those damned shorts!_) were starting the game. Arthur sighed when he realized he wouldn't be getting an answer. "I've always loved this game."

Alfred sipped his lukewarm drink. He desperately wanted to check to see if he still had all his hanging appendages in the correct places, but knew that Arthur would scold him for it. Alfred settled for trying to warm himself up. He leaned his weight onto Arthur's shoulder and arm.

Arthur rolled his eyes and stared down at the young man attached to his side. "What do you think you're doing?" He asked.

"Trying to keep warm," Alfred answered. He found sharing body heat with Arthur rather comforting. It was too bad that Arthur was considerably smaller than him that he could have covered the Englishman entirely with his own body. "You can't tell me you're not cold in this weather."

Arthur scoffed. "It's not that cold." He nearly elbowed Alfred in the stomach when his arm started falling asleep. "Would you sit up? I can't see what's going on."

"Nothing's happening," sighed Alfred. "There's no tackling, no cheerleaders, no food, and it's too damn cold."

"That's all you care about? Body contact?"

"And all that other stuff. I mean, look at them," Alfred made a motion towards the players, "they're not even patting each other's butts for scoring or anything."

Arthur's eyes turned on him in an icy glare that became colder than the weather. They remained quiet for the rest of the game. Alfred was trying to fall asleep on Arthur's arm; the nation was unbelievably warm. Arthur was watching the players pass the ball back and forth (in what Alfred thought was a predictable manner) and score a few goals. Everyone in the stands cheered and roared whenever someone scored and they booed and hissed quite audibly when someone made a mistake.

When everyone sat down again (Arthur was just as enthusiastic as the rest of the crowd for once), Alfred tried to settle into a comfortable position again. A light voice kept whispering to him, keeping him awake. It turned into a dull murmur that echoed through the stands when Manchester United gained control of the ball.

"You're singing," Alfred stated with amazement. He smiled and tried to get a batter look at Arthur's face. Arthur had turned beet red from embarrassment, but he kept on muttering under his breath with the rest of the crowd.

"We never cheer like you guys do," said Arthur when the song died down for a second. "We support our teams to the fullest, but we never make total bloody arses out of ourselves."

Alfred straightened up in his seat. He felt out of place; not only did he not know anything about the sport, he also didn't have a clue what the crowd was singing. "What songs do you sing?" he asked.

Arthur shrugged. "Sometimes we sing songs from church. There's a wide variety out there. Once people start singing, everyone else goes along with it. And don't you dare try to get them to sing something stupid!" Arthur huffed and concentrated on the players, leaving Alfred a bit confused at the outburst. "I played this game with Germany during World War Two, I sang the same hymns to you when you were sick or injured, and I have all the uniforms from every single team locked away in my house. I _love _playing this sport when I can. Life doesn't get any better than this."

"Except for **not** freezing your nads off and a little manly touching. I think the shorts are cute, though."

Arthur chose to ignore Alfred at the moment.

Alfred leaned over to whisper, "And I wasn't exactly talking about the players, just to let you know," suggestively into Arthur's ear. After all, there were plenty of ways to warm up once they got back to Arthur's house.

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- Atopos


End file.
